Frenzy
by simplyefflorescent
Summary: Hermione Granger has reluctantly returned to Hogwarts nearly six months following the war that tore her life apart. In order to deceive the school's strict rules about latecomers, Hermione is forced to live in seclusion in a wing of the school charmed to be inaccessible to other students. However, Hermione soon realizes she's not the only one hidden away in the school's shadows...


_And despite everything I'm still human,_

 _But I think I'm dying here._

Human - Daughter

* * *

As Hermione Granger strolled down the hallowed out corridor of the school, she couldn't help but worry that someone might emerge from the shadows and _crucio_ her at any given moment. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the place where Hermione had resided for the majority of the previous seven years, was once a safe haven. Many used to say, in much the same regard as the invincibility of the Titanic, that the security of Hogwarts was impossible to infiltrate. But just as the Titanic had proved many years ago, shit often happens.

Hermione approached Professor McGonagall's office as an uneasy feeling grew within her core. Once more her home than the house she was raised in, Hogwarts had become a battlefield, a graveyard of the innocent children she grew up with. It was the setting of the nightmares that plagued her each nightfall and the memories that haunted her every waking hour. With a defeated sigh, Hermione raised her fist, preparing to knock on the wooden door before her.

"Miss Granger, you may come right inside," McGonagall called out before Hermione's hand could even make contact with the door. Startled, Hermione pressed her palms against the heavy entryway and shoved it open with all the strength she could muster.

There was a cool draft in the dim-lit room, gently blowing against the flames of each candle lit, the shadows flickering against the walls. An eerie feeling was present, one that made Hermione shiver involuntarily. At the far end of the room stood Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, clad in a floor-length black dress and robes, her greying hair pinned back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her skin was paler than usual, almost sickly so, the warmth in her cheeks not yet returned since the war. Even without her dark attire and solemn demeanour, it was obvious to Hermione that the woman was grieving.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall began, but Hermione stepped forward, halting her statement in it's tracks.

"Professor, before you say anything," Hermione interrupted, as McGonagall's lips pressed together in a firm line all too familiar to the young woman before her. "I must thank you for giving me this opportunity. I know it's quite rare to allow a student to return so late into the term, so I feel you must know that I am entirely grateful."

"Miss Granger, it was the least I could do. You, along with Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, have done more for this school than ever expected or even anticipated. You went above and beyond to not only protect the school, but to save the entire wizarding world. It would be wrong of me to not return the favour back to you."

Hermione blushed sheepishly. "If I were so giving to this school, I would've had the decency to not show up nearly two months late, wouldn't I?"

"You've been through a great deal. More so than you have previously understood."

"Professor, I think you might have lost me."

McGonagall walked around her desk, making her way towards her student. "You see, I have been keeping from you a very important detail. Since you sent an owl to me, asking to return and explaining your situation, I have been in contact with a healer at St. Mungo's named Delia Rowan. She is muggle-born, just like you are, and specializes in assisting muggle-borns with illnesses that specifically plague them, but not wizards and witches. Upon explaining your situation, she suggested you might be suffering greater than you let on. Have you been having nightmares since the war?"

"Well, of course. Everyone has. Harry, Ginny, Ron. None of us have had a perfect night's sleep in months."

"I see. Though, Harry and Ron have began working at the Ministry of Magic. Ginny did return to Hogwarts on the scheduled date last month. However, you were unable to make it back on time."

Hermione could feel her skin beginning to warm. "Yes, Professor. As I said, I was having a difficult time coping with the memories of the, er, war. What does this have to do with anything?"

"Ms. Rowan believes you are suffering from a malady of the brain, my dear. She gave it a name…Post-traumatic stress disorder, I believe," McGonagall said. Hermione stared at the elderly woman, with a blank expression upon her face. _I couldn't possibly have PTSD,_ Hermione thought horrifiedly. McGonagall cleared her throat. "She will be staying on the grounds, to assist in making your return to Hogwarts less…"

"Traumatic?" Hermione offered, meekly.

"Precisely," Mcgonagall agreed, disregarding the mild terror in Hermione's tone and facial expression. "You will meet with Ms. Rowan every Saturday morning for talking therapy in hopes of a quicker remediation."

"Alright," was all Hermione could say. Despite the little voice in her head trying to come out in a scream of fear and disagreement, Hermione wasn't in any position to object to the restrictions she was given in her readmission to the school. To be accepted into Hogwarts was a blessing on it's own and to manipulate the system was simply unheard of. Hermione was in no place to be disrespectful towards the wishes of the woman bending over backwards to allow her to resume her education. Without a word of protest, Hermione followed the woman out of the office and down the corridor, on a journey to her new room.

The living quarters in which she would reside was located at the far end of a corridor unrecognizable to Hermione, likely created during the reconstruction of the castle subsequent to the war. There were only two doors in the corridor, one of which McGonagall brushed off when Hermione inquired to what lay behind it. It was almost more comforting to know that the castle still kept it's secrets; that the school remained familiar despite all that had changed over the past year.

"Right, here we are," McGonagall announced, using a old bronze key to unlock the door. She pushed it open, gesturing for Hermione to enter as she kept lookout for anyone wandering about. Hermione shuffled inside, followed suit by the Headmistress who closed the door quietly behind them. The room they had entered was spacious, empty of most furniture excluding a stove, cupboards, a brown sofa and a coffee table. A rather large fireplace sat as part of the far wall of the room, beside the coffee table which held on it a tall stack of books. On either side of the fireplace was a door, one presumably leading to a bedroom and the other a bathroom. "It's not much, but I'm sure it will suit you fine."

"Of course. Thank you," Hermione replied, barely louder than a whisper.

"You are welcome, Miss Granger. I assume you remember our conditions to you staying here, but just in case you forget at any time, I have written down everything for reference," McGonagall said kindly, flicking her wand so that a piece of parchment came floating across the room towards them. Hermione took it in her hands, suppressing a frown.

"That's very helpful, thanks."

"Well, I ought to be off. The other students will be finished with supper soon and I must make an appearance at the Great Hall before I raise any suspicions."

Hermione thought briefly about how fearsome the dark room might be once she was alone, but pushed the idea from her mind before it could fester. "Yes, of course, I understand. I'll see you soon, Professor."

"I hope you have a good night, Miss Granger. If you need anything - anything at all - do not hesitate to come to me." With that, she disappeared at the door, and Hermione was alone.

Her hands shaking, Hermione glanced down at the parchment in her hands. She had been given a compressed list of rules beforehand so she was already aware of what it might say, though she read it to herself anyway. It outlined her restrictions, her boundaries, the conditions to her return. She was not to attend classes - her coursework would be sent to her room by owl each evening. Her meals as well would be sent to her room, where she would eat them. She was to attend meetings with Delia Rowan every Saturday morning at nine o'clock. She was permitted to leave her room after hours and during classes or meals to visit the library or walk the grounds, so long as she was sure she would not be seen. Hermione sighed to herself, feeling tears threaten her eyes. If she had known she'd be living like a prisoner, she might not have returned in the first place.

 _Oh, stop whining,_ she thought to herself. _This is what you wanted. Grow up, Hermione, you're eighteen sodding years old._ Slowly, she walked towards the coffee table and carefully placed the parchment down on top of the books, obviously a gift from McGonagall to make up for her poor living conditions. Making her way into the door on the left, she found her bedroom containing a bed, like the one she slept in before in the Gryffindor dormitory, and beside it, a small bedside table. She went over to her trunk, which had been placed at the foot of the bed, and removed her robes. Once she'd placed them over her clothes, she already felt a bit better. _You see, this is how it's meant to be. There's no need to fret,_ she reminded herself. _You're home now. You belong here._


End file.
